


Secrets

by Kaslyna



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: 2.06, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaslyna/pseuds/Kaslyna
Summary: What if Ethan had gone to the ball with Vanessa in 2.06?





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fullmoonrisin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmoonrisin/gifts).



> Another prompt for fullmoonrisin. 
> 
> It should be noted, Lily isn't in this because that would've taken more time than I had to figure out how to deal with. Forgive me.
> 
> I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about this story, but I think it's as ready to post as it'll ever be. As always, I hope you enjoy!

If anyone were to ask him what it was that made him forget about his affliction, as it were, he would have to admit it was the look on her face. The nervous hope on Miss Ives’ face was just too much for Mr. Chandler to remember why he couldn’t go anywhere on Friday night. So he agrees without thinking about it. And then her smile becomes wider and brighter, and she starts talking-to him or to herself, he’s not entirely sure-about getting him fitted for a suit before then. He gets caught up in her enthusiasm, even as he remembers and feels dread creep through his veins like ice.

 

In the half week until Friday, it’s like something has shifted within Miss Ives. She is still afraid, still haunted, but there is a lightness to her that he relishes in. When they find themselves alone for a moment, she reaches out to him in some way: brushing a hand across the top of his head on her way out after everyone else has gone to bed; a small hand on his; smiles with so much affection that they make his heart ache, because he deserves none of it.

 

The night of the ball comes too fast. Miss Ives had done her best to prepare him, but he still finds himself nervous; he knows none of the social graces beyond their existence, and there is the pressing concern of his inevitable transformation tonight. He stands nervously at the foot of the staircase to wait for her, doing his best not to pace.

 

“Mr. Chandler,” she says, and he looks up, breath catching in his throat at the sight of her.

 

She is a vision in red and black, curls pinned high above her head. No gloves, he notes, not that it matters. Miss Ives is stunning, and he finds himself momentarily unable to speak. She takes him in with no small amount of admiration herself. The look in her eyes as she appraises him makes the beast within him stir. Ethan pushes it down, and continues to look at her, the way a quiet, content amusement has settled onto her face at his lack of response to her entrance.

 

“If it’s not too forward, I’d like to say that you’re gonna be the most beautiful woman at this fancy party,” Ethan manages to tell her, delighting in the slight blush it evokes, as well as the crooked smile he’s come to adore so much for its earnestness.

 

“It is, but I think I can forgive you,” Vanessa teases, and finally comes down to join him, linking their arms, “Let’s go then, shall we?”

 

He nods, and off they go.

 

-o-o-o-

 

Small talk, he finds, is the worst part of the event. Thankfully Miss Ives seems to agree; their conversations are only with the good doctor, and Dorian briefly. Then she turns to Ethan with a mischievous look on her face.

 

“Shall we dance?” she asks, knowing perfectly well that his ability to dance is questionable at best. She’d done her best to teach him, but they hadn’t had enough time. Besides, dancing around her room after dinner was hardly the same as dancing in as crowded and public a space as this.

 

Still, he won’t deny her when they’ve still got at least an hour until he transforms. And by then, he plans to slip away and find somewhere in this mansion that he can hide in and hope for the best that this night does not end with another massacre. So he extends his hand in an answer, and she takes it, smiling at him radiantly.

 

They are far from graceful, and they step on one another’s feet a few times. Nevertheless, Miss Ives looks happy, and Ethan finds himself slowly relaxing as well. They stick to one wall, doing their best to avoid the other dancing couples, lest an unsuspecting upper class Londoner gets a foot stepped on.

 

He loses track of how long they dance, only that at some point Vanessa glances over his shoulder, her face taking on a more solemn look, and he turns as well to see Sir Malcolm has finally arrived. Ethan decides that this is as good a time as any to slip out unnoticed.

 

“We should greet him,” Ethan suggests, trying to keep his tone neutral. He can feel the beast’s presence getting stronger, knows it is only a matter of time now.

 

Vanessa nods and begins moving towards Sir Malcolm, much to Ethan’s relief. He follows her, and says hello to both Sir Malcolm and the woman on his arm, Evelyn Poole. There’s something off about her that he can’t quite put his finger on, but he hasn’t the time to worry about it. When Miss Ives is significantly distracted, Mr. Chandler makes his escape.

 

He isn’t sure where he’s going, just that he has to get as far from the crowd as possible, and do so undetected. Eventually, after enough twists and turns to make him relax slightly, he finds an unlocked door. It is a storage room, it seems. He rummages around until he finds some sturdy looking rope, and wraps it around one wrist so tight he is sure he’ll have marks from it the next day. He manages to tie the other end to the sturdiest looking piece of furniture in the room before he begins to feel the beast rising. Moonlight streams in from a high window, and man gives way to beast.

 

-o-o-o-

 

At first, Miss Ives doesn’t notice Mr. Chandler’s absence. She assumes he had wandered off, perhaps to try to get a glimpse at one of the many portraits along Dorian’s walls, or to get a drink. She is sufficiently distracted by Sir Malcolm, and the untrustworthy Mrs. Poole. Then Mr. Lyle arrives, with a younger woman who is not his wife on his arm.

 

“She is my wife’s niece,” he assures her, and then they talk for a while, the younger woman giving her a look that unnerves her enough to break away from the conversation.

 

That is when Vanessa realizes his absence. As she looks around the room, she can no longer find him, and worry creeps into her heart. She decides to slip away to search for him.

 

She wanders fairly aimlessly, until she herself has become lost. It is at the end of a narrow, dimly lit corridor that she finds a door. Vanessa feels a pull towards it, and gives into instinct, moving towards it.

 

-o-o-o-

 

The beast has no bloodlust to be quenched tonight; there is a scent permeating the air even in this forgotten storeroom that stills it, makes it wait in anticipation. He knows he could easily break the rope, break the door, but he makes no moves to do either thing. Instead, he waits. It is instinct, pure and simple. The beast knows that she will come, and so it lies in wait.

 

The wolf’s sole instinct tonight is to wait for her, to protect her. His scorpion.

 

-o-o-o-

 

It appears to be a storeroom. It is eerie, lit only by the moonlight. Vanessa suppresses a shiver of fear, and enters slowly. Once the door clicks shut behind her, she takes in the room. Somewhere in the most distant and dim corner, there is the sound of heavy breathing, of movement. She follows the sounds, and stops short upon what she finds.

 

Tied by a rope on one wrist to some large piece of furniture she cannot quite discern, there is a beast; half man, half wolf. At her approach it looks up and meets her gaze, low noises rumbling in its throat as it stalks towards her. She moves back slowly as the rope binding it frays and rips, and the beast closes in. Unconsciously, she bares her neck, and the beast gets in close. It does no more than look at her, still making noises in its throat. She looks up into its eyes, and gasps quietly.

 

“Ethan,” she murmurs, and her heart hurts for him.

 

He growls at his name, and she closes the distance, placing a hand on the beast’s cheek. The beast startles, but makes no move away or towards her. Vanessa takes a deep breath, and mentally assesses the situation. They cannot stay here until the beast recedes; being seen sneaking out of Dorian Grey’s mansion at the wee hours of the morning is not a good look. No, they must move now, and find a way back unseen. They will walk to Grandage Place then, once she can find them a way out of here.

 

“Ethan,” she starts softly, “I am going to leave, and I will find us a back way out. Wait for me here. I promise I will return as soon as I am able to.”

 

The beast makes a noise that she takes as assent, and she stares at him for a long moment. Then she uses the hand on his face to pull him down enough so that she may press her lips to his forehead, and then their foreheads together for a long moment. She does not want any part of him to ever feel alone. Then she turns to leave.

 

Miss Ives sticks to the shadows, taking note of her surroundings as she explores Mr. Grey’s mansion. Eventually she comes upon the servants’ quarters, which have an alternative entrance, and don’t seem to be in use. Relief courses through her, and she makes her way back to where she’d left Mr. Chandler.

 

-o-o-o-

 

“Does she have an escort?” Miss Poole demands, turning a sharp look at Mr. Lyle.

 

“I believe so, yes,” he answers, feeling sick, “I believe Mr. Chandler is accompyaning her.”

 

Something dangerous flashes in Miss Poole’s eyes, and then is gone. The smile she gives him scares him worse than anything she had done thus far.

 

“Please don’t hurt them,” oh how he hates to beg, but he sees no other option.

 

“Relax little man,” the dangerous gleam was back, “She is sacrosanct.”

 

“And him?” he dares ask.

 

A wicked grin overtakes Hecate’s mouth, “He is mine.”

 

With that she disappears, and Mr. Lyle knows better than to follow her. He just prays silently that his friends will be alright, and that they will not pay for his mistakes.

 

It doesn’t take Hecate long to find a mirror, and then it is a mere matter of finding the room that Mr. Chandler, _lupus dei_ , currently resides in. She will set him free, and rule by his side.

 

He startles as she emerges from the mirror, turning to her and growling fiercely. His gait is quick but she is quicker; a few words said and his advance is momentarily stopped. The look in the beast’s eyes harden and she smiles at its confusion. It is almost endearing.

 

“Why are you confined here then?” she taunts, “When you could join all the fun outside? Paint the walls of that large hall red with the blood of the other guests, feed…”

 

The beast growls menacingly, and Hecate knows her time with him is running short, the spell already beginning to wane in its power, despite the full moon enhancing it.

 

“Oh, wait,” she pretends to consider for a moment, “She told you to wait, did she not? But you were not meant to be a kept dog, _lupus dei_ , you were made for something more primal and sacred.”

 

The beast is listening now, and Hecate finishes, “I would not make you wait after me. I would rule by your side, and help you paint those walls crimson.”

 

It is at that moment that the door creaks open. Hecate turns, a manic delight rushing through her at the realization that Miss Ives has returned. Ethan must realize this too, because he begins to growl, low and warning.

 

“It’s just me, Ethan,” Vanessa starts, not fully in the room yet, “I found-”

 

She stops short at the sight of Hecate, frozen in fear. Hecate sneers at her; it is a marvel how someone this delicate, this melancholic, this _pathetic_ , could ever be an incarnation of Amunet, but her master does not lie.

 

Miss Ives locks eyes with the beast behind Miss Poole, and it is at that moment that her spell breaks. She does not have time to react before there is a clawed hand tearing into her back. She hisses, turning and advancing as she shifts into her natural form. The beast adopts a defensive stance as she looms closer.

 

The words come to Vanessa, and she says them without thought. The nightcomer turns towards her, a look of horror on its face, and then it flees, breaking the window above. Once it is gone she turns to look at Ethan, the need to leave immediately becoming more apparent.

 

“I found us an exit,” she informs him, “We must go, quickly. Take my hand and follow my lead.”

 

He does as he’s told, the beast submitting easily. They make their way through the halls of the mansion, Miss Ives stilling at every corner to glance around it, squeezing his clawed hand to let him know that it’s safe to proceed. Eventually they reach the back entrance she’d found earlier, and slip out into the night. She had grabbed a dusty looking blanket from a box in the corner of the servants’ quarters that they’d exited out of, and she wraps it around his head, frowning thoughtfully. It will have to do for a disguise as they walk back. There is no way to get a hackney.

 

She is not entirely sure how long they walk, sticking to poorly lit back streets and gloomy looking alleyways the entire walk to Grandage Place. At one point she stumbles in her shoes, and finds herself held up by the beast. Once she assures him that she is alright, he lets her down. She gives him a brief, sweet smile and they continue on.

 

They enter through the cellar, Vanessa going upstairs first. Not seeing Sembene, she calls to the beast to come up with her. They make it to Mr. Chandler’s room and she closes the door behind them.

 

“You should try to sleep,” she suggests, her voice soft, “And we _will_ be discussing this tomorrow.”

 

Once he sits on the bed she approaches, and kneels to take his shoes off. She helps to remove his suit jacket from his even broader shoulders. Miss Ives stills at the feeling of the beast’s hands on her waist, slowly looking up to meet his eyes. He attempts to pull her onto the bed with him, and she stills him with a hand on his chest. Yellow eyes meet blue once more, a silent battle of wills. The beast relents, and she gives him an encouraging smile in reward.

 

“Let me undress,” she tells him gently, “And I will return.”

 

The beast reluctantly lets go of her, and she leaves.

 

Thoughts race in her head as she undresses and pulls on a shift. She sits and brushes her hair slowly, unable to think of anything besides Mr. Chandler and his unique nature. Vanessa finishes quickly and leaves to go back to him. She half expects him to be asleep, but the beast is lying on his bed. It sits when she enters, and she moves slowly towards the other side of the bed.

 

“If any part of you wants me here, here I’ll be,” she says, “You are not alone, Ethan.”

 

She climbs onto the bed and under the blankets. There is a moment of rearrangement, until she is curled in towards him, her face near his collarbones, and he is curled around her. The beast lets out a contented sound and some of her uncertainty about this melts away, sleep beginning to overtake her.

 

-o-o-o-

 

The first thing he is aware of is warmth. The second is something against his face-hair, he realizes. Panic floods Mr. Chandler. He had woken at the site of too many of the beast’s massacres already, and wondered whose body it would be next to his. If it was hers…

 

But then he registers, through the shirt he notices he’s still wearing, soft, warm puffs of air in a steady rhythm. Whoever it is is breathing, and while that relaxes him some he is still on edge. Now intrigued, Ethan forces his eyes to open. He sees the hair he had felt; raven and mussed with sleep. He recognizes the slight pull at his stomach are her hands fisted in his shirt, and that one of his arms rests under her head; the other, holding tight to the shift at her back. He furrows his brow in confusion, willing the memories to return. They begin to return slowly, as usual, but what is unusual is the clarity of them; he is accustomed to only being privy to parts of those memories, but as the memories return he theorizes that perhaps it was their aligned instinct-to protect Miss Ives at all costs-that makes the beast give him almost all of his memories this time.

 

Ethan is fearful of waking her, but his desire to get the inevitable confrontation about his secret is strong. It is at that moment that he is spared from making a decision, because he feels her begin to stir against him. Her hands tighten against his shirt before going slack, and she moves out of his embrace far enough to meet his face. They look at one another for a long moment, and he decides that he wishes to wake up this way every morning; to her face still lax with sleep, content to lay in his embrace and do nothing more. It is a dangerous thought; he entertains it only for a moment before pushing it down.

 

“Good morning,” she whispers, breaking the spell silence had cast over them.

 

“You know what I am,” his voice is hoarse, and he has to swallow past a lump in his throat.

 

“Yes,” she replies, voice still calm, “And here I stand.”

 

He lets out a shaky breath, “Did I hurt anyone?”

 

“A nightcomer,” she responds, “You wounded her, I spoke the Verbis Diablo, and she fled. I don’t know what she was planning, but I would not feel guilt for injuring her.”

 

He nods, considering, and then musters up the courage to ask, “Did I hurt you?”

 

“Of course not,” she frowns up at him now, “I’m not sure you ever could.”

 

“Then why are you…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, to speak out loud the situation they’ve found themselves in. It is clearly the wrong thing to ask; her entire being tenses, and a look of hurt flickers across her face before she masks it, moving to leave his embrace.

 

“I’m sorry. If you want me to go, I will,” she mumbles, and he stills her before she can get too far by tightening his grip on her shift. She startles, but stops moving, looking at him warily.

 

“I want you here,” he finds it within himself to admit.

 

“Then what?” her brow furrows with confusion.

 

“I only remember parts of it,” he explains, “But for some reason my memories of last night, partial as they may be at the moment, are clearer than any other morning after.”

 

She relaxes slightly, moving closer to him again before replying, “You were focused solely on protecting me the entire night. You never once disobeyed what I told you. And when we got home, you seemed insistent that I stay with you. I saw no reason not to.”

 

“Oh,” he breathes, and then an awkward silence descends.

 

“I am aware that this is highly improper,” she tries to move again, and once again he stills her.

 

“Do you want to go?” he asks.

 

She hesitates only a moment before relenting, “No.”

 

He lets the admission stand for what it is.

 

“Did you see this nightcomer?” he asks.

 

“Not well,” she admits, “She was mostly in the shadows.”

 

He nods, a thoughtful expression on his face, “I don’t think London is safe for you anymore.”

 

“I suppose it rather isn’t,” she agrees with a sigh.

 

“Do you know somewhere we could go?”

 

“Yes,” her answer is quick and terse.

 

“May I ask where?”

 

“Not yet,” she looks at him with an unreadable expression, “You don’t have to come with me.”

 

“I’m going with you,” he insists, “From now on, where you go, I go.”

 

“Ethan-”

 

“I think,” he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, “That whatever I am-whatever the beast inside me is-we are meant to protect you. I intend to do so.”

 

“Is that your only reason then?”

 

“No,” he responds, and offers nothing more.

 

“Well,” she sighs after another long pause, “I suppose we shall leave later today, if that’s alright with you?”

 

He nods, and then gives her a small smile, “But before then, let’s see if I can’t rustle up some breakfast for us.”

 

Miss Ives smiles at him in return, and for a moment, everything feels like it’ll be okay.


End file.
